The Lycan Society (The Flux Age Book 1) (9 page)

Florence’s heart skipped a beat. “You think she’s something else?” she breathed.

“That is precisely your mission, Florence,” said the Mother flatly. “You’re one of our best warriors. I know that.”

Florence turned away. “Didn’t help Martin,” she said, surprised at the emotion welling inside her. She hadn’t realized how guilty she felt for not staying in that alley.

“There was nothing you could do,” the Mother said firmly. “Don’t confuse guilt with regret. The latter is a complete waste of your time.”

Seeing the logic of this, Florence nodded.

“Now,” said the old woman. “Listen closely. I’m about to give you a street address in Berlin. I want you to take the girl there as soon as you touch down. Our contact will do the rest.”

“A diviner?” Florence asked with trepidation.

Mother Arena nodded.

Diviners were said to be able to ‘see’ a person’s spirit beast. The Lycan Society used them occasionally for this purpose, but they were notoriously elusive and unstable. It was said that with every successful divination they edged a little closer to madness. Florence didn’t relish the prospect of making contact with a diviner, but Yasmin Silver was clearly of great interest to the Lycan Elders. She would protect the girl to the best of her abilities. She tried to wipe her recent mission with Martin Halliday from her mind. There was still something that troubled her about the mission.

“It’s too neat,” Florence said abruptly.

The Mother arched an eyebrow, prodding Florence to continue.

“You find a diviner in Berlin at the same time Herr X is spotted there? I smell a trap.”

The Mother nodded slowly, a hint of a smile playing on her lips. Her eyes gleamed with pride. “That’s the Florence I know,” she said. “It’s a pity you have no interest in being a Mother.”

Florence couldn’t help but smile. Mother Arena permitted her to operate in the field, however her IQ tests indicated she would make a superb commander one day. But Florence would have none of it - she had a rare werewolf ability and was going to use it in the heat of battle. She was a warrior.

“Yes,” the Mother agreed, “it certainly looks like a trap. But our Chapter in Berlin suggests the diviner is legitimate nonetheless.”

Florence felt a cold anxiety in the pit of her stomach. She didn’t like the sound of this one bit. Why walk straight into a trap? The Elders must
really
want to know more about Yasmin Silver.

“Understood, Mother,” she said, looking her superior in the eye. “But if you wanted to keep Yasmin around, why assign her to me? Surely Jack would be a better choice.”

“I saw the way she was looking at him,” the Mother conceded, shifting her attention to the earth globe. “But Jack Foley hasn’t quite become the man we hoped he would be.”

Florence waited, thinking the Mother might elaborate, but she said no more.

“Good luck, child,” the Mother said quietly, already ruminating on other matters. “Protect Yasmin like a sister.”

“I will, Mother,” Florence said as she left. The formal nature of the briefing worried her. She’d never seen Mother Arena so distracted, so troubled.

She took the elevator down to the skirmish rooms. There, lycans could shift freely in a safe environment. Werewolves were of course able to control themselves, but the max shifters were supervised by handlers who ensured they didn’t harm others accidentally. From what Florence had heard about max shifting, there was usually an instinct that prevented the shifter from harming pack brothers and sisters. Still, it certainly paid to have the skirmishing rooms monitored for anything untoward.

Florence found Jack and Yasmin in the main skirmishing hall watching a bunch of werewolves undertake an aerial evasion course. The hairy male operatives swung on cables attached to the high ceiling, dodging concrete blocks and other random obstacles. In their current state they moved incredibly fast, chattering to each other in low, guttural growls. Florence rolled her eyes - these guys were probably showing off for the pretty girl with platinum hair who wore her new wolf pendant with pride.

Florence suspected they were wasting their time. Judging from the way Yasmin stood close to Jack as he showed her a special kind of grappling hook, she only had eyes for one man. Perhaps the Mother was right - it was dangerous to leave the girl in his hands. He was a churn and burn type of guy, a real narcissistic type. The sooner Yasmin realized that the better.

“Getting your hooks into our new recruit, eh?” Florence quipped as she approached the pair. Jack rolled his eyes, no doubt annoyed to have his manly explanations interrupted.

“I was just instructing Yasmin in closed urban equipment,” he said defensively. “You know, the type of thing that might save our lives in Berlin.”

“We all appreciate your dedication, Jack, but I’m afraid Yasmin’s with me. Mother’s orders.”

Jack looked as though he’d been punched in the guts. He shot Florence an accusing look, as if
she
had somehow taken Yasmin from him.

“Yeah, well, I’ll be leading the attack I guess.”

Florence was about to retort when she spotted Naomi wandering up behind them.

“Speaking of which,” the receiving operative said. “I have a briefing to deliver.”

Florence grinned at Naomi and wrapped her in a bear hug. It just felt right - she hadn’t seen her since the recent mission.

“Sorry about Martin,” Naomi said in her ear. “That can’t have been easy to see.”

Florence stepped away with a sad smile. “All part of the job.”

Naomi nodded understandingly before blowing on a small wooden tube. It was a wolf flute - lycans had been using them for centuries. The advantage of wolf flutes was that only lycans could hear them.

Florence watched Yasmin closely. She only turned to face Naomi when Jack did. Florence suspected she didn’t hear the sound, but then she hadn’t connected with her spirit beast yet. It was only fair to give her time.

“I’ll keep this short and sweet,” Naomi said as the other lycans came swinging down off their ropes. Florence wrinkled her nose. Male werewolves smelled like blood and aggression. Their pheromones were extremely intimidating. These guys would probably stay shifted for the whole briefing, just for kicks.

They all stood behind Florence, making her squirm uncomfortably. She’d been putting up with this low-grade bullying for years. As the only female werewolf in her Chapter, there wasn’t much she could do. To make a big deal of it would only make things worse.

She glanced over her shoulder to see who was coming along to Berlin.

The tall one with the jet black fur was Max. A fearsome fighter. The brown-white one was Eddison. Slightly more bearable than the others. Well versed in lycan lore. The grey-white was Paulie, Jack’s best friend. He was probably the worst of the lot. Always bitchy, always looking to raise himself by pushing others down. A real piece of work, and a classic example of someone who failed to live by the Lycan Code of Honor.

Well, now she knew who was on the Berlin strike force. Mother Arena was throwing everything at the Berlin Club - these werewolves were the best in the Chapter.

Naomi ripped open a sealed file and began handing out plane tickets.

“United Flight 542 out of JFK, 7am tomorrow morning.”

Naomi glanced at Jack. “You’d want to be tucked in early tonight, Foley.”

“We’ll see,” Jack said complacently. Florence resisted the urge to clock him in the jaw.
That
would sort him out.

“For security reasons you will not be seated together,” Naomi went on. “On touchdown at Schonefeld Airport you will proceed directly to the Hotel Brandenburg, where the Berlin Chapter will contact you.”

“We aren’t staying at the Chapter?” Paulie asked. As a werewolf his voice sounded like knives on steel.

“Mother Androska has politely refused our request for sanctuary,” Naomi said hesitantly. “They understandably fear reprisals from the Berlin Club.”

Florence could hear the werewolves behind her snorting in disgust. Cooperation with other lycan Chapters was often tarnished with suspicion. Lycans tended to form tight, localized packs, an ‘us against the world’ type of attitude. It was difficult to keep all the international lycan Chapters in line. It was a miracle that the Lycan Society had a Code of Honor at all.

Naomi stood clutching her empty data file to her chest, looking at each of the lycans in turn. Yasmin was breathing deeply, overawed by the situation. Jack stood at her shoulder protectively.

“Touchdown in Berlin, identify Herr X, kill him. Our intelligence suggests he is not only the spiritual head of the Berlin Club, but the one who writes the cheques. Complete the mission quickly and return home. Stay vital.”

“With the Mother’s blessing,” Florence said automatically along with the other werewolves. ‘Vitality’ was what Lycans prized above anything else. Vitality represented strength, wisdom and longevity. It was a lycan’s power, her reason for being. More than that, the entire pack depended on collective vitality to ensure its continued existence. Florence thought of the cercarium, how dead lycans accelerated the healing process of sick or injured pack brothers and sisters. The community-minded aspect of lycan life was probably what she loved the most.

Naomi nodded and stepped aside. “Take it easy tonight, wolves. Berlin looks like a trap.”

Florence took Yasmin by the elbow, troubled by Naomi’s final warning. “I’ll show you to your quarters,” she said firmly.

Yasmin looked over to Jack, who nodded reluctantly. It irritated Florence that this girl was already asking permission to leave his sight.

“Thank you, Your Majesty,” she couldn’t help saying as she lead Yasmin away.

The girl was quiet as Florence took her up to the habitation wing. Finding a spare room wasn’t a problem, as there were always several kept for visiting Lycans.

Florence stopped at a simple room with a basic camp bed, bedside table and wash basin.

“We tend to live simply,” Florence said, trying not to sound apologetic. She was proud of the spartan way Lycans lived. “I’ll have someone bring you clothes,” she added.

Yasmin considered the room with a worried expression, though Florence could tell it wasn’t the accommodation that was eating at her. There were probably a thousand questions running through her head, questions she might have asked Jack but was now to too shy to venture. Florence felt a twinge of guilt, knowing that she would make a poor mentor to this girl. What could she do? She preferred action, not words.

“I’ll come get you at 0600,” was all she could say.

Florence had almost made it clear when she heard Yasmin’s silky voice.

“Will I know?”

“Excuse me?”

“Will I know what I am after Berlin?” Yasmin asked. Her eyes were clouded with deep anxiety. Florence’s heart gave way. She realized she had no idea what it must feel like to have a spirit beast slumbering within. To not know your spirit beast was like stumbling around in the dark. No identity, no vitality, no purpose.

Florence stepped forward and squeezed Yasmin’s hand.

“I swear by the old Gods, Yasmin,” she said with complete conviction. “We’ll unlock what’s inside you. Together.”

Poltava, Ukraine

HERR X STOOD close to the cell, watching with intense concentration as the chimera thrashed around. There was no way of knowing what the small, unassuming man was thinking.

All Tomas could do was keep his eyes fixed on his diagnostics, his body rigid with tension. Petyr had already attempted conversation with the German billionaire but had been shot down with those cold, cold eyes.

Eventually Herr X turned and made his way over to Tomas, his cane clicking on the floor. The scientist steeled himself for action.

“Most interesting, Dr. Verdano,” came the quiet voice, as thin as a stiletto. “Perhaps we can talk more about this in private.”

“Of course, sir,” Tomas said hastily, signaling for Petyr to shut the experiment down and clean up.

Herr X calmly followed Tomas to a spiral staircase at the rear of the lab. It lead to a bright office that overlooked the cavernous space. Herr X walked straight to Tomas’s chair, beckoning the scientist to take one of the visitor’s chairs. It was a subtle show of power that immediately put Tomas on the back foot.

The scientist settled himself as well as he could, not bothering to trade pleasantries. He knew from experience that to attempt conversation with this man was more stressful than it was worth. Instead, he looked at the German expectantly, taking the opportunity to study him at close range.

Close-cropped hair in the fashion of most German businessmen in their sixties. Thin steel-rimmed glasses. Pale complexion. Tomas had never seen Herr X consume anything other than coffee. Imperious nose, full lips. Icy blue eyes that suggested extreme intelligence but little in the way of empathy or warmth. A slight, wiry frame. The walking stick helped with an undisclosed injury.

All in all, a brutally spare, efficient, intimidating man. The type who didn’t even need to try.
Those
men, Tomas knew, had spent lifetimes acting rather than talking.